


I Owe My Life to the People That I Love

by threemeows



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threemeows/pseuds/threemeows
Summary: Kitty writes her own letter.Or, the movie through the eyes of one Katherine Song-Covey.Blend of book and movie verse.





	I Owe My Life to the People That I Love

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Ani Difranco song, "In or Out."

As far as relationships go, Kitty is pretty sure Lara Jean’s and Peter’s is pretty weird.

 

For one thing, they don’t touch each other. They don’t even hold hands. When Margot and Josh were dating, they’d always do that - lean against each other’s shoulders on the couch, hold hands when they were walking her to and from school. Kitty would watch from the window when Josh would say goodnight - she couldn’t see, exactly, not from her angle, but she could see two shadows meet and linger against one another.

 

(One time she’d peered from the landing in the middle of the night and saw them on the sectional - lying down on the sectional, actually - and she’d fled quietly up the stairs again)

 

Lara Jean and Peter don’t do any of that. So Kitty decides it’s because it’s so new. That they might be embarrassed. Or that maybe they don’t want to embarrass her. The dorks.

 

She’s just happy her plan worked. This Kenny guy and Lucas James and John Ambrose McClaren just didn’t get their letters. Or maybe they did and they just tossed them in the trash, whatever. And Josh probably got embarrassed or whatever but since he’s still clearly in love with Margot obviously he and LJ just worked things out and forgot all about it. (Although that doesn’t explain why he doesn’t come around anymore. Her texts go unanswered, or are met with “I’m busy, sorry!” Still, she keeps trying to get him to hang out here. Maybe one day . . .)

 

But Kitty could tell from the near-miss in the parking lot that Peter liked LJ and she’s glad he actually read his letter. Sure, it was probably embarrassing for her sister but all’s well that ends well.

 

Because Peter’s pretty cool. He drives them to school every morning and actually talks to her. Listens too. Like he’ll ask her about her day and not in the “oh okay” kind of way, but in the “I actually want to know how your day was.” He’d tried to help with her science project the other night and ... well, it’s the thought that counts, right? He even sits through Lara Jean’s romcoms and doesn’t snark too much (and tells LJ off when she tries to stop her from watching his action movies). And his taste in Korean yoghurt smoothies is, of course, impeccable.

 

It’s like having Josh back, but different.

 

She still misses Josh, though. She wishes Margot hadn’t broken up with him. She wishes he still came around. Sometimes she even wishes Josh did read his letter and say to LJ, “Okay. Let’s go.”

 

But then again, Peter wouldn’t have come into their lives, and she loves having Peter around. Besides. There’s still hope for Gogo and Josh, right?

 

Right.

 

*

 

There’s a new girl at Adler Middle. Amelia Martinez. She’s short, just beginning to get curvy, with curly bobbed black hair and dark skin. When she smiles, a dimple shows up in her left cheek, deep, like someone poked a chopstick into there.

 

Kitty is fairly certain she’s in love, in the way eleven-year-olds that are soon to be twelve are certain they are in love. (So, not very.) All she knows is that when Amelia asks to borrow her pencil sharpener during math, and giggles with her (not at her) when she sees it’s a Pikachu pencil sharpener, Kitty feels a swoop of such joy in her chest - of being seen, of being understood - that she doesn’t want it to go away.

 

*

 

Something shifts. Kitty doesn’t know when, exactly, or why. She chalks it up to them getting more comfortable around each other, around her. More easy.

 

Maybe it was after that thing that LJ went to with Peter - what did she call it? State sale? Estate? She’d left super early and then came back with her arms full of junk that she’d dreamily called her treasures. When Daddy asked how it went she’d gotten a look in her eye. Pleased. Happy.

 

Or maybe it was after that dinner she’d went to at his house. With his mom. LJ had been ... nervous. Checking and re-checking her outfit. Her make-up. When Peter dropped her off, Kitty saw through the curtains he’d walked her up to the porch. (He’d never done that before. Kitty would know. She’s looked every time.) Two shadows didn’t meet in the middle, but they talked for a little bit. She’d heard Peter’s laughter, low, in his chest. Lara Jean’s giggle. And then their quiet good-nights.

 

And then she heard her sister through the bathroom wall, humming to herself as she brushed her teeth.

 

So maybe it was after that dinner. Maybe it was that other weekend. Whatever. Because everything changes and it’s ... odd.

 

Because Kitty will notice that sometimes, when Peter’s over, and she’s chattering with him, his gaze flicks away from her, to over her shoulder, where LJ’s listening to their conversation with a half-smile or a giggle, and he’ll grin back and then he’ll pay attention to Kitty again. For only a second though, because he’ll be back to looking over at LJ.

 

Or during movie night, and some really bloody scene comes on, he’ll back LJ up when she insists that Kitty close her eyes or they cast-forward.

 

Or when they’re back to romcoms, and Lara Jean will lean against his arm - he’ll move, put it around her. And he’ll look at her, when she’s not looking. He’s not even looking at the tv half the time.

 

It makes Kitty feel weird sometimes, like she’s intruding. Like she shouldn’t be looking at them. She used to have no problem doing that, to them, to Margot and Josh. Now it feels private. Too private.

 

Especially since when Kitty sees Lara Jean look at Peter, when he’s not looking. And it’s not the same kind of look that he gives her. It’s not soft and mushy. Those are the ones he gives her when she’s not paying attention.

 

It’s like she’s already saying bye to him, and steeling herself for the worst.

 

*

 

“My mom’s dead,” Kitty says over the lunch table, with a careless shrug, after Amelia asks why only her dad came to the fall concert. “She died when I was really young.”

 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Amelia says, stricken.

 

“It’s okay. I never really knew her,” Kitty says. “I’m totally okay with it.”

 

Amelia chews on her lip. “It’s okay not to be,” she says, and bites into her sandwich.

 

Kitty frowns and takes a sip of her water before reaching for another rice ball Lara Jean made for her lunch. She’s not sure if she likes how quickly Amelia cut to the heart of the matter.

 

For as long as she can remember it’s always been Margot. Margot and Lara Jean. She doesn’t remember Mom. The face she sees whenever she thinks of Mom is the face frozen in photographs, a smile that lasts forever. How can you love someone you don’t even remember?

 

She remembers a pair of arms – warm, comforting. A scent, not flowery, not sweet, just . . . some _one_ , unique, her long hair tickling Kitty’s face. And the sound of something sizzling, in a pan, savory heat in the air. Sometimes Kitty dreams about those arms and that scent and those sounds.

 

And sometimes she wakes up from those dreams, and wonders if she’d been tucked against her mother’s hip before the stove. Or if she was sitting in Margot’s lap, waiting for Lara Jean to finish cooking rice balls.

 

*

 

One day, close to winter break, Peter drives them back home and Kitty can just tell - he and LJ are fighting. They’re quiet and Peter doesn’t even really say hey to her, and Lara Jean just looks out the window of Peter’s Jeep, her chin in her hand.

 

When he pulls up to the house, there’s a fleeting terror that Peter will up and go and never come back. Like Josh.

 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Kitty chirps, as she gets out. LJ sends murder in her gaze towards Kitty, already out of the car herself.

 

“Um,” Peter says, cautious, still inside the car. Lara Jean’s arms are crossed, she’s studying her shoes. Kitty frowns. Whatever fight this was must’ve been big. “If it’s okay with your sister.”

 

Lara Jean shrugs, head still bent. “Sure,” she mumbles, through the curtain of her hair.

 

Kitty hears Peter make a clicking sound with his teeth, a sigh. Then he turns off the engine.

 

Inside, Kitty rushes up to the linen closet. Pulls out old bedsheets. “I’m building a fort. Tonight is a fort movie night,” she declares, almost desperately. That’ll get them to stop fighting. They’ll be so distracted thinking they’re distracting her it’ll all be good in a matter of moments. Sometimes it pays to be the littlest sister, the one everybody underestimates by virtue of youth.

 

“Kitty,” Lara Jean sighs from downstairs.

 

“Kid, I don’t think -“ Peter starts.

 

Kitty just tosses old flowered bedsheets at him in the face. “I’m gonna order pizza,” she says, skipping into the kitchen. “Who wants the works?”

 

They set up the flowered sheets on the sectional, prop it up with couch cushions and old craft yarn tied at the ends. By the time the pizza arrives it’s a perfect den that just barely houses the three of them underneath. Peter has to basically fold himself into a pretzel to get inside.

 

But he doesn’t seem to care. He’s laughing again, with LJ, who is also now trying not laugh, as she’s eating her pizza. Dad even joins in, although he just eats his slice from the island.

 

“Come on, Kitty,” he says, when it starts to get late and the pizza is flat cold.

 

And for once she doesn’t argue about bedtime. She says goodnight and heads up the stairs.

 

Later, though, she sneaks downstairs. She tells herself she’s not sneaking. She’s hungry. She wants a snack.

 

They’re talking quietly, softly, like they’re tired. The tv is still on but it’s on very low. Kitty stops at the landing. She can’t see them, because they’re lying down on the couch, on top of the flowered ruin of the sheet-den. She can just see the tip of Peter’s arm, like he’s using it as a cushion.

 

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

 

“Already told you. I’ll go if Chris goes.”

 

“Yeah, and she won’t go. That’s why you said it. So you don’t have to.”

 

“Who says she won’t go?”

 

“Because she’s Chris. She doesn’t go to these things.”

 

“First time for everything.”

 

“Well, she already said she won’t go.”

 

“You talked to her?”

 

“Texted. And talked. So yeah.”

 

“ .... Peter.” And there’s exasperation there, and tiredness, and something else, and Kitty thinks she should run right now.

 

“ ... What?” His voice is very quiet.

 

Lara Jean is silent. Then, suddenly, her voice comes out shaky and high, with confusion, “ _Why_?”

 

Peter doesn’t reply for a long time. Then he says, “Covey ... I think - I mean … don’t you kn – ”

 

Lara Jean interrupts, lowly, “I ... I’ll go if Chris goes. Like I said.”

 

“ . . . Right. Okay.” He sounds tired, too.

 

Kitty waits. And waits. She should go back to bed. She’s tired herself. She checks her watch. It’s close to LJ’s curfew. And Dad won’t be happy if Peter stays too late, either. So she walks up to the couch, and sees it - Lara Jean, on Peter’s chest, both of them asleep.

 

Kitty takes out her phone, snaps a picture. Then she heads into the kitchen and loudly opens and shuts the fridge. Something inside her - the something that all smart kids have inside themselves when they’re on the cusp of childhood and growing up, tells her that now is not the time to be obnoxious.

 

Lara Jean flies up from the couch, and Peter does too, coughing. “I, um - better -“ he says.

 

“Yeah,” she says, hurried, and walks him to the front door.

 

Kitty calmly pours herself a glass of juice. She hears them talking to each other briefly at the door. Kitty finishes her juice and walks upstairs.

 

She texts both of them the picture the next morning. Neither of them reply.

 

*

 

Growing up, Kitty heard it all the time.

 

“You look just like your sisters!”

 

“You’re so like your sisters!”

 

“You’re so unlike your sisters!”

 

These were comments from relatives, but mostly teachers, who had both Margot and Lara Jean and now Kitty. They were all almost always white, and when Kitty would complain to her sisters, they’d laugh and say, somewhat bitterly, “That’s because they think we all look alike.” And they didn’t mean the “we” as in Margot and LJ, they meant the “we” as in all Asian-Americans.

 

But it wasn’t the looking alike thing that bothered her – although, as she gets older, Kitty’s discovering it does bug her. But, anyway, the thing that bugged her the most was that they were always comparing her to her older sisters.

 

Margot, who’s the smart one and the good one and the one who got into St. Freaking. Andrews. Lara Jean, the creative one, who can make something cool and beautiful in an instant, like her scrapbooks, her outfits, her food.

 

What’s Kitty? The little one? The kid one? The one who cracks jokes and makes smartass quips to lighten the mood, and yeah, sometimes – okay, all the time – to needle, to annoy.

 

The one who does all those things because she can’t measure up to her big sisters. How annoying to be known as the littler version of them. The lesser version.

 

That’s what rankled her about Peter, when she first sat in his car. He’d called her Little LJ. Now she knows he didn’t mean anything by it, but still. It pissed her off.

 

It’s a good thing he’s been so nice to her since then. And to LJ.

 

*

 

“Yo. Kitty.”

 

Kitty turns from chattering with her friends. Peter’s pulled up in his Jeep, hanging out of the drivers side window. She waves.

 

“You want a ride?” he calls.

 

Kitty frowns, wondering. Behind her, she can hear her friends whispering. “Where’s LJ?”

 

“She took the bus. You can ride in front.” He waggles his eyebrows at her.

 

He doesn’t even have to say it twice. “Hell’s yeah!” she exclaims. Her friends shriek with glee.

 

“Oh my god!”

 

“She gets to ride –”

 

“Kill me now!”

 

“Who’s that?” Amelia asks, as Kitty shoulders her backpack.

 

Startled, Kitty looks at her. She’s frowning, like she’s worried. Like . . .

 

“Oh, that’s my sister’s boyfriend,” Kitty says, quickly. To reassure her, maybe? “He just gives us rides sometimes.”

 

“Oh.” Amelia’s face brightens. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

 

Kitty grins, suddenly feeling even better. “Okay! Bye guys!”

 

She jumps into the passenger side, pulls on her seatbelt. “This is sooooo cool,” she yells, waving to her friends as he pulls out of the parking lot.

 

Peter laughs. “Thought you’d might like it,” he says. “How many cool points did I win you?”

 

“Uh, like a shit ton!”

 

“Don’t curse.”

 

She sticks her tongue out at him. She stops, though, when she notices he’s not taking the road to her house, but the main one that cuts through town. “Where are we going?”

 

Peter shifts in his seat. When they reach a red light, he says, eyes still on the road, “Weeeeeeell, I kinda, sorta need your help, kid.”

 

“Help?” Intriguing.

 

He huffs-sighs, then says, “Your sister. Still won’t agree to the ski trip and it’s in three days. I mean, what gives? Who _wouldn’t_ want to go on the ski trip with me?” He scoffs, laughingly, as if he can’t quite believe what he just said – as if he can’t quite believe Lara Jean wouldn’t.

 

Kitty can’t believe it, either. Peter is awesome.

 

(If she were a little bit older, maybe she’d recognize that the tone of voice he’s using is almost exactly like when he declared that he was “way more better-looking” than Jake Ryan. Or that his laughter didn’t quite measure up on the Richter scale of “genuine,” and fell more along the lines of, “genuinely bothered.”)

 

“I figured, maybe I’ll pack her some of her favorite stuff. You know. Those Korean drinks, those peas things – anyway, they’re not at the grocery store . . .”

 

“Yeah, those are for white people,” Kitty says, airily. “You can only get them at the Korean grocery store.”

 

“Yeah, and I need some help getting them. They’re not gonna kick me out if –”

 

Kitty bursts out laughing. “What, you think they’re gonna kick you out because you’re not Korean?!”

 

Peter glares at her as the light turns green and they peel off. “Just help me pick some stuff out, okay?”

 

Kitty peers at him, sly. “What’s in it for me?”

 

At the next light, he fishes into his jeans for his wallet. Pulls out a twenty. “My sister is only worth twenty bucks to you?” she says, clucking her tongue. Peter rolls his eyes and counts out three tens. Kitty’s eyes widen. She’d only been teasing. He must really be desperate here.

 

“You guys have a very strange, weird relationship,” she observes, as she tucks her windfall into her backpack.

 

“Don’t I know it,” Peter grumps. And then he says, more to himself than to Kitty, “I think she’s a little gun-shy.”

 

“Gun-shy?”

 

“You know. Scared.”

 

“Scared? Huh?” Of who? Peter? “Of you? You’re not scary. You’re awesome.”

 

Peter glances at her. For some reason, he looks a little sad. “Thanks, Kitty.” Then he brightens up. “So, what’s going on with you?” He squints, playful, at her. “Any sixth grade punks I have to tell to get lost?” Kitty feels her cheeks heat and he cackles, triumphant. “Ha! Who is he?”

 

Kitty looks out the window. They’re almost at the H Mart. “Oh, turn here,” she says, tapping his elbow. Peter’s so concerned finding parking and getting into the place to impress LJ he forgets all about his question, and Kitty’s too grateful and too busy trying to help him to be bothered by Peter’s assumption.

 

*

 

When Lara Jean goes on the ski trip, Kitty’s left alone pretty much to her own devices. Still, it takes her an entire day and night to work up the courage. It’s not exactly snooping, she tells herself, as she opens the door to her sister’s room. She just wants to check something out.

 

Lara Jean left for the trip yesterday, and in that morning, as she was frantically packing, something had fallen out of her coat pocket. “Oh, these things,” she’d sighed, and balled the scrap of paper up and tossed it carelessly into her wastepaper basket. Where it tumbled out immediately, because it hit the overflowing mountain of other paper balls.

 

“What was that?” Kitty had asked.

 

“Oh, just a note from Peter,” she’d replied, sitting on her suitcase to get it closed. “Help me zip this up?”

 

“Shouldn’t you keep those things?” Huffing, straining, Kitty managed to zip the suitcase closed. “I mean, they’re from your boyfriend.”

 

“They’re just notes,” LJ had said, sounding a little annoyed. “And he’s not – I mean, we’re – anyway, never mind.” She’d left in a hurry, because Dad was honking his horn.

 

Now, Kitty heads over to the desk, picks up the wastepaper basket. She grabs the note that had fallen yesterday from the floor, too. She sits on Lara Jean’s bed, uncrumples the notebook paper into the original square. From the crisp edges, it looks like Lara Jean never even opened this one. It’s got her name on it, in what Kitty can only assume is Peter’s handwriting, with a little love heart.

 

What. A. _Dweeb_.

 

She unfolds the note.

 

_I think I’m starting to like you for real._

 

Kitty feels her brow rise. _They’re so weird,_ she thinks. What does that even mean? And why wouldn’t Lara Jean even read it? He’s her boyfriend, for god’s sake.

 

She picks up another note, this time from the trash can. This one is a standard note – _Starbucks after school?_ The others are too. Like the one asking LJ to take the bus, so he could show off his car to Kitty’s friends. Kitty smiles at that one. But there are some in there which seem like Lara Jean should’ve read – maybe she even did read them – but maybe she didn’t . . . maybe she didn’t understand . . .?

 

_You looked so pretty today._

 

Kitty wonders when “today” was. She wonders why this square, like the other one, still has crisp edges, like it’s never been read.

 

She wonders why she’s suddenly feeling so guilty for snooping.

 

Quickly, she takes all the notes – smoothes them down, re-folds them. Then she goes back to her room and pulls Mom’s old hatbox from underneath the bed. She puts all the notes inside. Lara Jean should keep these notes. She should read all of them, one day.

 

Downstairs, she hears the door unlocking, being pushed open. “Dad?” Kitty calls, surprised. He’s at the hospital to induce Mrs. Barberi and deliver her triplets – it was supposed to be a long day, because one of them is going to be very tiny. She rushes down the stairs and sees, to her utter shock, it’s Margot, dragging in her suitcases with a gigantic smile on her face.

 

“Oh my god! Why are you here!” Kitty launches herself at her oldest sister, thrilled.

 

“I finished my exams early. Surprise!” Margot says, hugging her tight. “Oh my god! I missed you so much! Did you get taller?! How could you get taller!?” And she pulls back and there are tears in her eyes and Kitty grows alarmed. Margot never cries. Margot the Stoic. “You’re taller than me!”

 

“You’re just short,” Kitty jokes, weakly, a little overwhelmed.

 

Margot tugs on her braids. “Where’s everybody?”

 

“Dad’s at the hospital, delivering triplets.” Margot nods, knowing automatically that this’ll take a while. “And Lara Jean is on the ski trip.”

 

“The ski trip?” Margot exclaims, shocked. “Like. The Adler High ski trip?”

 

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Margot says quickly. (It won’t be until a few years later, when Kitty’s fourteen and in high school herself and presented with her first opportunity to go, that she realizes why Margot was so worried about the ski trip.) “I’m just . . . never mind. Tell you what. How about we surprise them both?”

 

“Yes!” Kitty says, pumping her fist.

 

Margot claps her hands together gleefully and they both do a little dance. “We’ll put up all the Christmas decorations and the lights and – ”

 

“Christmas cookie bonanza?” Kitty asks, hopefully.

 

Margot nods sagely. “I’ll grab the decorations from the attic. You start getting the baking supplies. Think LJ will be in the mood to make chocolate chip first? I miss hers.”

 

“Yup!” Kitty calls, dashing over to the kitchen. She starts getting pots and flour and measuring cups out. She pauses when she hears Margot thunder up the steps, an idea forming.

 

As far as matchmaking goes, Kitty feels like she hit it out of the park. She’d sent out those letters of Lara Jean’s, and now look. So maybe she can work some of her magic for Margot.

 

She pulls out her phone and texts a message over to Josh. _Come over when you can. Xmas cookie bonanza! Pretty please?_ She follows it up with a few crying face emojis. Perfect. He’s never missed a Christmas cookie bonanza. Then she meets Margot at the foot of the stairs to help her with the armfuls of string lights and wreaths and red bows.

 

It’ll be perfect. Josh will come over. Gogo will see the light, and he’ll want to come over all the time again. LJ will be back from the ski trip. She’ll bring Peter with her. And then they can all hang out together and it’ll be awesome.

 

*

 

It is the exact opposite of awesome.

 

*

 

“Do you believe in love?”

 

On her back, Kitty flips through the panels of Amelia’s comic book sketches, brow furrowed. “Sure,” she says, rolling over onto her stomach to face Amelia, who’s sketching at her desk. “I mean, duh. It makes the world go ‘round. Why? Don’t you?”

 

Amelia shrugs her shoulders, still sketching. “I guess. My mom and dad fight a lot. But then the next day they’re fine.” There’s something in the way she says “fine” that makes Kitty think they’re not. “Did you parents ever do that?”

 

Now it’s her turn to shrug. “I dunno. I was too young to know.” Margot would say no. LJ probably would, too. But she can’t ask either of them, because both her sisters aren’t talking to each other – or anybody, in fact – and have been that way for two straight days now. It’s awful, and it’s why she finally escaped to Amelia’s.

 

Maybe, Mom and Dad didn’t fight. She was too young to know, but she’s not to young to remember sitting on Dad’s lap while he cried. He cried and kept crying and she told him not to, gently, and he tried but he couldn’t seem to stop. She’s not too young to know he hasn’t brought any woman over to meet them, his three little girls. Ever. If he and Mom fought, then Dad wouldn’t be the way he is, now, would he?

 

Peter and Lara Jean fought. Margot and Josh fought.

 

Lara Jean and Margot are fighting.

 

(Because of her.)

 

Wow, her head hurts.

 

Amelia turns, flops down on the floor next to kitty, and presents her with the sketchbook – the newest panel to their collaborative effort in self-published comic book writing. “Awesome,” Kitty declares, and starts to pencil in the dialogue into the empty text bubbles.

 

Amelia grins, then touches the necklace dangling from Kitty’s neck. “That’s awesome,” she says, tracing the F with a single finger.

 

Kitty gulps, smiles nervously at her. Pulls away.

 

*

 

Okay, so _maybe,_ in retrospect, sending out all five letters was a bad idea. Or just that one letter to Josh. Whatever. It’s done. She’s basically hurt the two most important people in her life, all because she wanted to help.

 

“You know why they’re not talking to each other?” Daddy asks, over a game of chess, after a few days of the silent treatment at dinner.

 

Kitty shakes her head, guilt eating at her. But she can’t let Dad know, and anyway, she’s just a few moves away from checkmate. “Not a clue. Women, right?”

 

“Right,” Dad says, concentrating.

 

Then comes the screaming.

 

 

*

 

Kitty waits outside Lara Jean’s room. She listens to both her sisters talk. Their voices are high, wobbly, like they’re trying to stop themselves from crying. But it’ll be okay, Kitty knows. They’re Margot and LJ. They’ll fight but they’ll make up.

 

Kitty takes a deep breath, shadowboxes a few fake opponents – jumps up and down, shakes out her limbs. Time to woman up and tell the truth. She walks into Lara Jean’s room to accept her fate.

 

*

 

Well, at least she’ll get to live to see the seventh grade.

 

But Lara Jean is miserable, and mopey. And Peter’s gone, just like Josh, because Margot didn’t see the light, and neither did Josh want her to, apparently. Christmas break isn’t the same.

 

But at least LJ and Margot aren’t fighting anymore, and the video is gone. The Song Sisters are back.

 

But then it’s time for Margot to fly back to Scotland. “How come you’re not sad?” Kitty asks, after Dad gives them a respectful distance, and they hug good-bye at the airport.

 

“Of course I’m sad,” Margot says, nonplussed. “I always miss you guys.”

 

“Yeah, I know that,” Kitty says, rolling her eyes. Margot rolls hers too. “I meant about Josh. You guys dated forever, and now, what? It’s just over? Like that?”

 

“Oh, Kitty,” Margot says, face softening. “Some things just . . . sometimes these things don’t work out. I _was_ sad. I may not have shown it, you may not have seen it, but I was. But it was also the best thing for me. For the both of us.” Kitty frowns, but accepts Margot’s hug. “You be careful now. You’re beginning to sound like LJ’s movies.”

 

“I’m not like Lara Jean,” Kitty bursts out, fiercely. “All this moping around like a sad puppy.” Lara Jean rolls her eyes. Kitty glares at Margot. “And I’m not like you. You’re cold-hearted.”

 

“Kitty!” Lara Jean gapes.

 

But Margot takes it in stride. That’s Margot. She just gives Kitty a knowing look. “No, you’re definitely you,” she says, wisely.

 

That night, for dinner, no one wants to eat Christmas leftovers, and Dad is mopey himself now that Margot’s gone, and has no real appetite. Lara Jean putters about the kitchen, slow, not the busy, frenetic bee she normally is whenever she’s baking. Kitty plops onto the bar stool at the kitchen island and watches her stir fry the thinly-sliced vegetables, when something stirs in her memory.

 

“Who taught you how to do that?” she murmurs.

 

Lara Jean doesn’t turn around, just starts taking tofu skins and wrapping them around the mix of sushi rice and vegetables. “Mommy,” she says, softly. “Eventually, I got good enough to do them on my own. You two would sit there – “ She points at the spot in the island where Kitty is “ – and I’d make them and we’d pretend we were having a tea party.”

 

“I was sitting on someone’s lap.”

 

“Yes. Mom’s.” Lara Jean tilts her head at her, as she slides the plate of rice balls across the island. “Hers was always better. Can’t get it quite right.”

 

Kitty takes a bite, closes her eyes at the flavor bursting on her tongue. “Mom’s was tangier. Just a bit. Tasted better.”

 

When she opens her eyes, Lara Jean’s are glassy. “I mean, yours are better,” she says, quickly.

 

“No, you said exactly the right thing,” LJ insists, smiling her first genuine smile in weeks, and turns back to the stove.

 

Kitty smiles, and continues eating.

 

*

 

School starts up again, and she gets to see Amelia, who now has purple tips in her curls.

 

“That’s so cool,” Kitty breathes, awed.

 

Amelia laughs. “How was your Christmas?”

 

“It was . . .” Kitty stops, and shrugs.

 

Amelia smiles and says, “Do you wanna hang out this weekend? My mom says it’s okay.”

 

“Sure!” Kitty says, pleased. “Part two of the Amazings needs work. We can’t slack off.”

 

Amelia pauses. “S-sure,” she mutters. “The comic book. Okay.”

 

She said something wrong. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, everything’s cool!” she chirps, suddenly bright again. “Let’s go. We’re gonna be late for class.” Then she fairly flees down the hall, purple curly tips bouncing.

 

Kitty worries her lower lip between her teeth and follows. She doesn’t eat much lunch and by the time school’s dismissed for the day, she walks back by herself. No more drives with Peter.

 

(No more comic books with Amelia.)

 

She goes to her room and sits in bed and stares up at the ceiling for a long time. Margot had said that it hurt to break up with Josh, but that it was for the best. How can Margot feel that way, Kitty’s not so sure. And what about LJ and Peter? He hasn’t been back since that night. Does that one fight ruin everything?

 

Does love go away? Come back? Was it ever really real, then? She really doesn’t know.

 

She’s only eleven.

 

Downstairs, she hears talking. Josh, and Lara Jean. Curious, she quietly goes down the steps – sits silently at the landing. They don’t notice her.

 

They talk about the letters. They talk about Margot. Josh says he understands why she broke up with him, now. And Kitty’s sad for him, all over again, but then she realizes, from the way he’s talking – he’s not sad for himself, at least not anymore.

 

Maybe it’s time she admit she was more sad for herself.

 

“Look, if you miss him, why don’t you just tell him?”

 

“Well, I can’t.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Because if it wasn’t real, I didn’t lose anyone. But if I say that it was real, and he still doesn’t want me . . .”

 

And that makes Kitty stand up. She doesn’t listen to Josh’s reply. Because she’s jogging up to her room, reaching underneath her bed.

 

Because it was real. Everything about it was real, and Lara Jean should see.

 

*

 

Dad’s at the hospital tonight. Josh went back home, and after scribbling something in her notebook, Lara Jean took off like a bat out of hell. Kitty’s not sure to where, exactly.

 

She has the house to herself. _A puppy sure would be nice,_ she thinks, a little glumly, as she pads over to the fridge. Yuck. If she has to eat another bite of Christmas leftovers she might just die.

 

She picks up her cell phone, looks at the array of take-out menus from the bulletin board. Before she makes her choice, though, she quickly texts Josh.

 

_Can you still come over once in a while?_

 

This time, he answers. _Yeah of course._

 

She smiles softly. Then she turns back to the menus, at a loss. Guess it’s pizza. Pizza. Pizza it is. Pizza will –

 

The door opens. Kitty peers out from the kitchen and in tumbles Lara Jean, laughing. Behind her is Peter, with two boxes of pizza.

 

“Hiiii! HIIIII!” Kitty squeals, overjoyed. She runs to both of them and Peter just barely manages to hold the boxes up before she crashes into his chest, wrapping her skinny arms around his waist for a big squeeze.

 

“Ouch, kid! Watch the pizza, watch the pizza!”

 

“Kitty!” LJ laughs.

 

“Did you get the works?” she says, letting him go.

 

“Of course I got the works,” he says, insulted.

 

“I’ll get the paper plates,” Lara Jean says, giggling, and Kitty watches Peter watch LJ practically skip into the kitchen.

 

_Dork._

 

“You coming?” he asks Kitty, and she nods.

 

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and runs up the stairs, pumping her fists and grinning. _It worked! It worked! I’m a freaking genius!_

 

Love makes the world go ‘round. And they’re all different kinds – the love she has for her dad, her sisters – the love she has for . . . for Mom. The love she has for two dopes who are like big brothers to her. All different kinds of love. And some kinds last forever, some change, and some end. The world keeps going ‘round.

 

She’s almost twelve. What does she know about love?

 

Plenty, now.

 

So, maybe she’s not like Margot – practical, purposeful Margot. And maybe she’s not like Lara Jean – romantic, nonsensical. Maybe she’ll forge her own path, do it her own way.

 

With a couple of borrowed ideas, of course.

 

She sits at her desk, pulls out a piece of notebook paper, and begins to write. This might take a while, but she doubts Peter and LJ will miss her.

 

She won’t hide this note, in a box full of hopes. She’ll hand it to its recipient.

 

_Dear Amelia . . ._

 

-End-


End file.
